ᑭETᖇIᑕᕼOᖇ

Chapter 8

It seemed as if things between herself and the boy she had maimed had been a bit off since Artemisia's attempt on his life. (Which shouldn't be weird to her but whatever.)

It wasn't animosity, no, that had been there for forever. It showed itself in the way they attempted to list off the ingredients of a potion faster than the other when questioned by Slughorn, or whenever Tom would glare at the girl with such a cold stare for the most childish things.

No.. this was something else entirely. Almost as if, for once in his life, Riddle backed down from the opponent that could so easily kill him (at least that's what she thought.)

But that was just simply impossible.

Inconceivable, even. Tom Riddle? Backing down? She knew it'd never happen in a millennia, so whilst basking in the fortunate alone time from his childlike-evading-tactics, she was also always on high alert. 

Turning the corner to go to Arithmancy, walking back from the library just before curfew, slipping out of a lone broom closet from an evening of hot touches and stolen kisses with Nate. She was always keeping an eye out for him. She knew he'd come with a vengeance one day, and oh would it be sweet.

Mesia had never been given the grace to be shown Riddle's full amount of power. Of course, it radiated from him on a daily basis - even if he wasn't performing any magic at the time. But it was one of the only things that interested her these days. He was definitely not normal. That much was glaringly obvious. The hushed conversations of Horcruxes amongst other things - without a doubt - clued her in to the boy's lingering dark side. Oh, who was she kidding? His dark side was always there and it always peaked her interest a little more than it should.

On her way to her second class of the day, she stopped at the courtyard, her gaze fixed on the tall stone goblet that stood menacingly in the center of the yard. Accio quill and parchment, she thought. The items soon came whizzing out of her bag and landed with a soft thump in her hands. With no hesitation or time for second-guessing, she quickly scrawled her name down and confidently stepped past the age line - drawn by none other than Dumbledore himself. Good thing she was of age or she might actually not have been able to bypass it. The bloody fool of a man was powerful, that much she couldn't deny.

Tom watched from behind a pillar as she tossed the paper into the bright blue flames. It almost made him angry, the way she so clearly didn't put an ounce of thought into her decision. Reckless, he thought bitterly. But just after she left, he casually strolled up and dropped his name in the same exact way.

Perhaps they were more alike than either of them cared to admit.

~~~

Sighing to herself, she lazily scrawled notes down from Divination - a course she had recently taken up for the reason that the others were "not challenging enough". 

Although she only took it twice a week she was already one of the top students based on her intuition alone. Whenever Professor Cinderridge would ask the class to interpret tarot cards or omens she somehow always guessed correctly despite her lack of "sight." 

Truth be told, most of the magic being taught at Hogwarts was already well-known to the witch by the time she was a mere 8 year old. Her parent's, ever the knowledge and power seekers, thoroughly enjoyed teaching the young girl any spell that came to mind and the history behind it. Well, Alexander enjoyed it.

She could recount the countless times she sat with him in his study, a magical chalk board with a lone piece of harshly-used chalk floating in the air behind him that messily wrote down every word that came out of his mouth.